


Sink Down Deep

by SinbinSmut



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Double Penetration in Two Holes, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Light Bondage, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Trans Kaito | Kite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinbinSmut/pseuds/SinbinSmut
Summary: Kite, captured by a group of criminals he and Ging were pursuing, is already in a bad situation. But one of them has a particularly insidious Nen ability.
Relationships: Kaito | Kite/OMCs
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> mfw it's been like two years since I posted on AO3 and this is what I'm coming back with ( •᷄ὤ•᷅)
> 
> Mind the tags, please. Second chapter is the shorter, decidedly less sexy aftermath mentioned there.

Kite’s jaw aches. The fingers tangled in his hair are too harsh, carelessly dragging him forward and back. The wooden floor hurts his knees. He mentally catalogues his minor pains over and over, all trains of thought dropping flat after a moment or two. The knowledge that he needs to escape is all he can hold on to, to the point where he can’t take the next step of _how._ He knows how to fight, how to lie, how to plan, but all he can do is try and keep up with the grip on his hair and messily suck on the cock in his mouth.

The man’s hips jerk arrhythmically and his fingers tighten, tugging Kite back so that he only has a second to close his eyes before cum splashes across his face. It’s hot and thick, dripping downward slowly. In the back of his mind he thinks that this is a good moment to act, when the one holding him is so greatly distracted. Now. He should do something now.

“Not half bad,” the man grunts. “Sloppy, though.”

He shoves Kite’s head away. Kite wavers a moment, but even with his hands bound behind him he keeps his balance. There are voices and shifting sounds around him. Even though he knows it’s important to stay vigilant, he can’t bring himself to open his eyes.

“Who’s next?” someone barks. Kite mentally catalogues them; six members of the group, and three so far. Halfway. If they go once. He can take it, probably.

“Pretty sure I’m next,” a mellow voice speaks up. There’s a couple of groans.

“Fine, just don’t take forever, alright? You give everybody else blue balls,” another one says.

The second speaker hums, apparently unconcerned. Then the sound of approaching footsteps. A chill runs down Kite’s spine. Something about this new man’s presence is unsettling. His aura feels like it drips over Kite’s shoulders, seeping down into his veins.

“Hi there, darling,” he coos. A hand brushes Kite’s bangs out of his face and he flinches back. “Look at this mess. Hold still for me.”

A quiet pop and liquid hitting the ground, and then a cool cloth wipes gently across Kite’s cheek. It’s not so much of a surprise, and he manages to hold still even when the cloth brushes against his eyelids.

“That’s better,” the man says, humming to himself. “You can open your eyes now, right?”

He shouldn’t. The numbness that’s held him in place since it started is cracking, all of Kite’s instincts screaming that this one, this man out of all of them is most dangerous, this situation can still be made worse.

“ _Look at me_.”

He looks.

The man is rather plain. Mousey brown hair, a slightly crooked nose, fine wrinkles by his eyes. He doesn’t look the part of an international hitman, but the nen flickering around his outline tells a different story, and Kite tenses even as the warm look in the man’s eyes makes something in him melt.

“There we go!” the man says cheerfully. He’s tossed the cloth aside, and cups Kite’s cheek. “Hmm… they were pretty mean to you, huh?”

Kite’s silence apparently bothers him, because his eyes narrow and he leans in. The same moment that Kite becomes certain he needs to move away is when he realizes that he can’t.

“ _Did it hurt_?”

“Yes,” Kite hears himself say.

“That’s too bad,” the man sighs. He comes even closer, making something in the back of Kite’s mind scream despite how harmless the man seems. Kind, even, in wiping away some of Kite’s humiliation. The need to shy away from his warm, enveloping presence seems distant.

“I can help with that,” he purrs. “Just let the aches and pains _drift away_. Just _relax_ …”

When he kisses Kite, the soreness in Kite’s lips fades. Their bruised ache eases, and when the man’s tongue slides along their seam Kite shivers and opens without thinking, letting him inside. The pain there, too, is wiped away. The throbbing in his jaw peters out when the man kisses his cheek, and a kiss to his forehead disappears Kite’s headache. Even the abrasions on his bound wrists become painless, even his knees on the hardwood floor.

Logically, he knows he is not being healed. He knows that what’s coming is as bad or worse as what’s come before. But when the man asks “Feel better?” he can answer “ _Yes_ ” without lying. The knowledge that he is still in danger is fuzzy and smooth, like velvet. The numb terror he was in is gentling into a languid kind of giddiness, and it is worse, but it feels better. The next kiss draws a sigh from him that verges on a moan. The absence of pain makes it clear how soft the man’s lips are and how warm his touch feels.

“Hey Itsuki, you know my dick was in there, right?” someone snickers from the sideline. The man, Itsuki, only kisses Kite deeper in response, drawing a chuckle. The exchange barely permeates the thickening fog Kite struggles to focus past. Only Itsuki’s touch comes through clearly, his hands sliding around Kite’s waist to pull him close and his tongue claiming Kite’s mouth more thoroughly than anything thus far. A shiver runs through him as Itsuki nips his bottom lip.

When Itsuki finally leans away Kite is nearly gasping. “Kissing is nice, isn’t it,” Itsuki says, not truly asking but not continuing until Kite gives a shaky nod. “Yes, I think I like it best. It helps when I’m kissing a pretty thing like you.”

Kite’s ears burn and he’s sure he’s turning red. Itsuki’s mouth quirks up in a lopsided grin. “Oh yes. You’re the prettiest boy we’ve had in a while. I’m sure even these brutes can appreciate how lovely you are.” Kite’s gaze flickers to where the other men are gathered, most of them watching and more than a few palming themselves. He can’t help but shy away from the sight and Itsuki laughs, kisses the corner of his mouth.

“ _Don’t be scared_ , now, they’re just rough around the edges. Emelio there—with the patchy beard—he practically shoved us out of the way to get a chance at you.” He pulls Kite close and murmurs into his ear, his voice inescapable. Kite can only look over his shoulder at the leering group and listen, enveloped in a soft and gentle fog. “Far too pretty for your own good. Even prettier when you settle down, I can hardly hold back.” One hand strokes Kite’s hair and he feels himself, impossibly, soften further, even the so recent fear of the men mellowing out into a docile skittishness.

Itsuki takes a look at him and smiles. “There. Let’s have a do-over, shall we…” He stands, leaving Kite kneeling on the floor. Kite blinks up at him hazily. It takes a moment for the clink of a belt being undone to register, and then Itsuki’s half-hard cock nudges against his lips. “Don’t worry, sweet thing,” Itsuki reassures at his uncertain glance. “I’ll tell you what to do. You like kissing, right?”

An involuntary shiver goes down his spine. “Yes…”

“It’s just a kiss,” Itsuki tells him, voice low as he strokes Kite’s hair. “That’s all, just _give it a kiss_...”

Kite’s lips press to the head, his tongue darting out to catch a little of the salty taste. It would seem distant were it not for how vividly the musk strikes his senses; another shiver runs through him and he kisses it again, trailing down the shaft and licking back up to the tip as best he can with his hands bound. Itsuki hums in approval and the sound is worlds different from the grunts of earlier men as they fucked his mouth. Kite laves his tongue along the curve of the head, a little thrill running through him as Itsuki sighs with pleasure. Even if he can’t save himself, surely he doesn’t have to suffer? a little voice murmurs in the back of his mind. Like this, he can endure it all without so much dread weighing him down.

“This is why you all need to be nicer,” Itsuki says admonishingly to his cohort. “It’s so much better when they like it. And you like it, don’t you,” he directs to Kite, who looks up from where he’s encouraging Itsuki’s cock to harden fully with kisses and kitten-licks. Itsuki smiles and presses a thumb to Kite’s lips, parting them so he can nudge the tip inside and rub it along his tongue.

“ _Suck my cock_.”

Kite sucks, automatically covering his teeth and stroking the underside with his tongue as best he can. Itsuki doesn’t push in farther, letting him focus on the head and get his bearings. Without shock and fear stilling his thought, there’s a kind of excitement in feeling Itsuki’s cock swell to its full size inside his mouth. He barely has to think at all now to know to tilt his head, give his tongue more to explore along the flare of the glans. Itsuki’s breath hitches when Kite sucks lightly on his frenulum, and his fingers tight in Kite’s hair loosen to pet him approvingly. Kite’s docility is not quite deep enough yet to smother a pang of injured pride, but stronger than that is a swell of contentment. Another fragment of resistance caves in before the bone-deep desire to perform well.

“You’re a perfect cocksucker,” Itsuki coos as Kite glances up at him for direction. “Like you were made to have your mouth on a dick.” A hand on the back of his head nudges Kite, and he takes the cue to inch forward. In this state, he can drink in the silky feeling of a cock sliding along his tongue. As he begins to bob his head and indulge in it, a hint of bitter precum meets his senses and—while it isn’t a _good_ taste—it isn’t so disgusting as it was before. He can get lost in the motion, falling into a rhythm and letting time pass by.

When Itsuki grips his hair tight again the discomfort registers dimly. More pressing is how he tugs it, urging Kite to take more into his mouth, and rolls his hips to pick up the pace. Kite moves along as best he can, but in the end it works best to let Itsuki fuck his mouth and focus on sucking.

Someone whistles approvingly from the sideline. Itsuki laughs and pauses his movement. “Want to put on a show, darling?” he asks Kite, who still absently suckles on the head of his cock and doesn’t bother indicating one way or the other. “I know you can do it. _Relax your throat_ , now…”

What tension is in Kite’s neck drains away. Taking most of Itsuki’s cock is easy, and even when the head bumps against the back of his throat it doesn’t occur to him to pull away. He stays in place, nose buried in Itsuki’s bush and eyes watering, an unneeded grip holding him there. He can barely shift his jaw, let alone keep sucking, though his body tries. There just isn’t anything he can do but take in the heady scent of Itsuki’s musk and sweat. If he’d felt the weight of cock on his tongue before, now he feels overwhelmed by it.

“Perfect,” Itsuki moans from above. His cock twitches and Kite swallows reflexively, spurring another low moan. “Do that again.”

Kite swallows dutifully and Itsuki’s cock pulses, grinds against the back of his throat with their minute movements. He’s faintly surprised he hasn’t gagged yet; relaxed as he is, it’s still a relief when Itsuki pulls out and lets him cough raggedly. Itsuki strokes himself and smiles. At the first suggestion, Kite takes him back in. Again, Itsuki makes him take it to the base and swallow and this time he stays there until Kite’s lungs are burning. Itsuki brushes the hair from his face and shoots a smirk at his companions as Kite makes involuntary, muffled noises around his cock.

“Goddamn,” someone groans. “Itsuki, hurry up so I can _fuck_ him.”

“Pearls before swine,” Itsuki shoots back. “Can’t you just enjoy watching? But fine.”

He takes a few more minutes to pump, and when Kite can feel his cock pulse he hisses “ _Swallow it all_.”

Kite just has time to take a breath before he feels the first shot hit his tongue, salty and thick. The way that Itsuki trembles as Kite drinks him down, sucking gently to get it all, strikes an off-key chord of satisfaction. He can see why people enjoy doing it.

The voice from before mutters “Finally,” and another, deeper one rumbles “Bring him over here, Itsuki.”

Itsuki sighs. When his cock leaves Kite’s mouth, the long strand of saliva connecting it to Kite’s tongue stretches a few inches before it snaps. Kite catches his breath and distantly wishes his hands were untied so he could wipe the drool from his chin.

“Want me to make him slutty for you, Dmitri?” Itsuki asks casually as he tucks himself away. It should feel like a slap in the face, like a skin-crawling threat, but as Kite watches the men discuss how they want to toy with him it doesn’t feel like much of anything. He flexes his fingers to keep the blood flowing in them and thinks that maybe the nothing is the void where fear should be.

His attention is drawn back as Itsuki takes his arm and pulls him up to his feet. His knees twinge from so long spent kneeling, but he keeps his balance, at least until Itsuki pushes him backwards into the lap of his sitting companion. The man is massive. A hulking wall of muscle, and when he lays his hands on Kite’s hips his fingers nearly meet. The man gives a satisfied grunt, his clothed erection obvious even through all that’s in between.

The other, the last of them to lay hands on Kite, grips his chin and tilts his face up. “I’ll take mouth if you want his ass, Piotr,” he says, looking over Kite’s shoulder. “I don’t want the hassle anyway.”

Piotr’s broad fingers dig into Kite’s hips and he grinds Kite down against his erection. Kite squirms uneasily in his grip. “Fine.”

The word is barely spoken before the other, Dmitri, has tugged Kite’s head forward and down, mashing it up against his crotch. The fabric is abrasive enough to be uncomfortable, the man’s grip far harsher than Itsuki’s had been as he mashes his dick into Kite’s cheek. Kite squirms again, but Piotr’s hands still him. One moves to slide along his thigh, squeezing like he’s trying to find the best grip. The angle Kite’s been dragged into is sharp enough that his legs are spread wide with Piotr’s between them, keeping him from even trying to close them as Piotr’s hand reaches between his legs. The first touch is careless, the second inquisitive. He abruptly grips the back of Kite’s coat and pulls him upright.

“Hey!” Dmitri snaps, but Piotr waves him off.

His index finger slowly strokes along the shape of Kite’s labia. It sends a shudder down Kite’s spine and makes him want to shy away, but there’s nowhere to go. Instead he pulls his legs together like he couldn’t before, pulling his knees up so Piotr’s hand is squeezed between his thighs. It doesn’t stop Piotr, but it blocks the view at least a little bit.

Dmitri hums, scratching his beard in thought as his eyes stay fixed on where Piotr touches him. “Huh. Alright.”

Kite about jumps out of his skin when Piotr takes his hand away only to shove it down the front of his pants. His blunt, calloused fingertips are rough on sensitive skin and Kite finds it in himself to dig his heels into the cushions, struggling with that tiny leverage to displace the groping touch.

“Stop,” he gasps, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Something not quite pain throbs through his body as he tries to reach for his Nen. “Stop, I—I don’t want—”

Piotr makes a low, displeased sound and refuses to be moved. The pad of one finger rubs against Kite’s clit, making his breath hitch as a hint of pleasure sparks low in his stomach. Getting his thoughts straight through the haze he’s in is like trying to grip water, but he knows with certainty that he doesn’t want anything that’s about to happen. He could endure them using his mouth, but…

“Itsuki,” Piotr rumbles. Itsuki sighs where he’s sitting and watching and hoists himself up. Kite’s attention snaps to him, though nothing can fully distract from how Piotr’s fingers toy with his labia. Itsuki leans in close, and his presence is itself soothing. Kite presses his cheek into the hand Itsuki proffers, at once relieved to meet his gentle gaze and tense with the knowledge that the delight in those eyes is at his own expense.

Itsuki smiles. Despite himself, Kite melts. “You’re very stubborn, you know. I thought you were too pretty to be a fighter at heart, but… well. You should let go now. _There’s nothing you can do._ ”

He’d known it already. He would have escaped if he’d been able to, after all. But Itsuki’s soft assertion delves down into his heart and wrenches out the ghastly despair he’d fought back, the hideous certainty of his own helplessness. Kite blinks and finds tears rolling down his cheeks.

Itsuki clicks his tongue and wipes them away. “You’re even pretty when you cry. But _don’t think about fighting_ too much, you’ll worry yourself to pieces. We’ll show you a nice time all the same, hm? I think you could even like it. _If you relax, you’ll feel good_.”

Piotr’s thick finger presses into him and Kite shudders. He can’t help but tense, feeling it intimately and knowing it should hurt, but the impulse to thrash flits away the moment it appears. It’s dizzying, looking down to where Piotr’s hand envelops him and grasping for some thought of what to do about it when all thought abandons him. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip and fights back a whimper when Piotr pulls out, allowing the burning stretch to ease, only to push deeper.

Dmitri replaces Itsuki by their side as the other steps back to slump down in a chair. Muttering to himself, he makes short work of catching the waistband of Kite’s pants and pulling them down, manhandling him to get them under his ass. The movement shifts Piotr’s hand, grinds his finger along Kite’s inside in a way that makes him gasp. Dmitri tugs off his shoes and tosses them aside, his pants following soon after. The air is cool on his bare skin, but Kite’s whole body feels flushed with embarrassment when Dmitri’s eyes devour it. He stares at Piotr’s finger as it fucks deeper, building up a pumping rhythm that forces Kite’s muscles to relent and let it move smoothly. Even without pain, clenching down on the intrusion is uncomfortable. Without thoughts of resistance, the tension in his body steadily unspools, becomes a bone-deep restlessness.

Dmitri tugs his legs apart. “How tight is he?”

Piotr’s finger curls, pulls a strained whine from Kite’s throat. “Like a vice. But getting softer.” He retreats, and when he pushes in again it’s with two fingers, his thumb moving to rub against Kite’s clit in circles. This time the sparks of pleasure flare up and catch. The steady pressure of Piotr’s wide thumb, moving in time with his pumping fingers, is finally enough to have his directionless energy focused toward chasing the glints of good feeling.

His attention is half-caught by Dmitri’s soft hiss as he palms himself, but a moment later all he can focus on is the feeling of Piotr’s fingers scissoring and massaging him inside, a mechanical and relentless motion that tears a moan from his throat. His hips move in time almost involuntarily, bucking up into Piotr’s steadfast touch so that his thumb slides along his labia, so that there isn’t anywhere his fingers don’t reach. The messy, wet sound of it makes his ears burn.

“Fuck,” Dmitri mumbles, tugs out his dick to stroke it properly. “Piotr…”

Piotr’s hum is a low rumble in his chest. His fingers leave Kite’s body with a slick sound, making him shudder and whine at the emptiness. Then he’s lifted, turned, and settled again with his chest to Piotr’s and his knees pressed into the cushions of the couch. He blinks up at Piotr’s stoic expression, disoriented until those fingers enter him again and he’s reduced to a mess of mounting pleasure. He can move better in this position, lift himself on trembling thighs and let his uncertainty flee in the face of desire. If there is one thing he can be sure of, it’s the truth of Itsuki’s words reverberating through his body, dispersing despair and pulling him ever further into a limp bliss.

“Better,” Piotr rumbles. The only evidence he’s affected by anything that’s happening is the rigid shape that bumps into Kite from below. His free hand slides around to grip Kite’s ass and squeeze, spread him a little bit more. “Dmitri.”

“What, both of us?” Dmitri says incredulously. If Kite cranes his head, he can just see Dmitri glancing over to a dozing Itsuki.

Itsuki opens one eye and waves his hand lazily. “Don’t wreck him too bad and it’ll hold.”

Dmitri pauses a second longer before he looks back and sees Kite watching him. A wolfish grin tears across his face. “Shit, I’m not complaining.”

He strides out of sight. Kite nearly twists to follow him, but is distracted when Piotr pulls him forward and slowly drags his fingers out. Kite moans at the feeling, his head resting on Piotr’s broad shoulder. Right below his hips, Piotr is unmistakably undoing his pants and freeing his erection. It rubs along Kite’s thigh, leaving a wet trail behind it, and when the fat head nudges between his labia he feels his heart in his throat.

_Relax_ , he thinks desperately. Piotr’s hand on his hip presses down, the other getting his cock positioned right. Even the very tip is thick enough to make his body clench involuntarily. Kite hides his face in Piotr’s shoulder and takes a mouthful of his shirt to muffle the keening sounds he’s making, the moan when he manages to loosen. The flare of the cockhead shoving its way past the tight entrance feels shamefully good. Piotr’s dick is short, but absurdly thick; seemingly just the right shape to hit all the delicious places in Kite’s body.

When Kite’s firmly settled in place, trembling atop his cock, Piotr pats his hip and thrusts shallowly a few times, like he’s testing the movement. It takes Kite’s breath away and he gasps, waves of pleasure making it all the easier to melt into Piotr’s hands.

He’s still trying to get his bearings when Dmitri’s hand cups his ass and squeezes. He jerks with surprise when something cold drips next to it, shifting on Piotr’s cock and whining at the feeling.

“How much do you think he needs?” Dmitri asks. His fingers drag through the slick substance and spread it around the ring of Kite’s ass. Kite can’t help but shy from the feeling, driven from both the chill and how close the pressure of Dmitri’s fingers is to where he’s so thoroughly spread already. “Not much, probably, if I go slow?”

Piotr’s chest rumbles with his grunt of assent. He, too, gropes the curve of Kite’s ass. “He is soft inside now. Flexible.”

Dmitri laughs under his breath. “Perfect.”

Another generous drop falls right onto the sensitive flesh of Kite’s entrance and he shivers; dizzy confusion is rapidly replaced by shock as two of Dmitri’s fingers push inside. Through the fog, he’s paralyzed with disbelief. Dmitri’s probing fingers feel intensely strange, but as they scissor in a roughshod approximation of Piotr’s preparations they stoke the heat inside of him. Swaying with Dmitri’s rhythm what little he can means Piotr’s cock grinds his walls and makes every nerve spark with pleasure. It doesn’t take long for him to be dripping wet.

By the time Dmitri’s wet cock noses up against his ass, Kite is bonelessly pliant under their hands. He doesn’t try to think of fighting. Every movement makes him quiver, his muscles wired with anticipation. Piotr’s broad hands stroke his thighs, lift his hips enough to present him to Dmitri. When Dmitri pushes forward, the pressure making Piotr seem all the bigger, it drags a moan from deep in Kite’s chest. He can’t help but revel in how impossibly full he feels, how his body has taken so much.

Dmitri is not nearly so patient as Piotr has proven. Just as soon as he’s pushed in, he takes up a sharp, punishing rhythm that shoves Kite forward into Piotr’s shoulder, where he struggles to breathe through the cries each thrust wrenches from him. The shirt pressed to his cheek is wet with how much he’s drooling; Piotr’s thumb swipes along his chin and into his mouth, pinning down his tongue so that he can’t bite back any sound. The man’s stoic expression is marred by a red flush and belied by how the hand on Kite’s hip crushes him down. Each jolt of his body moves him just enough that Piotr can snap his hips up and drive his dick as deep as it will go.

“So damn tight,” Dmitri hisses behind him. He grabs Kite’s bound wrists and uses them as leverage, pulling him back into each rabbit-quick thrust so that their hips smack together. Every movement presses his cock against the shape of Piotr’s, the dual assault sending such spikes of pleasure through Kite’s body that he feels himself sobbing around Piotr’s thumb, gasping out broken fragments of pleas without aim.

When he cums, it’s almost a surprise. One moment he’s clinging to what little thought he can through the waves of rapture and the next he’s gone—swept under so hard he can’t breathe, his body wracked with tremors as two cocks relentlessly pound into him. Both men hiss as he shakes, and he dimly feels Dmitri’s nails dig into his wrists before his ass is suddenly hot, wet, and then empty.

“Quick shot,” someone mutters, and laughs when Dmitri spits at them.

Kite shudders. Pressing his fingers to his ass yields an uncomfortable feeling of liquid dripping from him, Dmitri’s spend thick and sticky on his skin. He can feel his pulse throbbing and, somewhere deep, dreads when he’ll be able to feel how much it hurts. But in this moment Piotr lifts him bodily and the drag of his cock sends such intense sparks up Kite’s spine that he can’t think. He’s bounced like a toy, so sensitive he’s dizzy with it, and Piotr’s broad thumb presses cruelly to his clit to make him cum again before Piotr finishes with him.

The rest, a blur as he’s passed around. One fucks his mouth again so they can compare to how he was before. Another pushes his knees to his shoulders and snickers at how flexible he is. At some point the ties on his wrists are cut, his shirt and binder roughly taken off; he vaguely recognizes Dmitri as the one pinning his arms and dragging his dick along Kite’s chest. With his hands free he strokes and sucks two at once, wrenched from one to the other as they squabble until one spills in his mouth and the other on his hair.

Black spots dance in his vision when Itsuki presses his face into the floor with a hand on the back of his neck, hips up so he can be mounted like an animal. He kisses the shell of Kite’s ear and murmurs “ _Cum,_ ” then “ _Again_ ” until Kite blacks out.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a while after he wakes and is summarily dragged into place at someone’s feet that the door is kicked off its hinges and hits the opposite wall so hard it shatters. Kite barely blinks at the noise, but the hands tangled in his hair wrench him off the cock he’s been licking with an urgency that catches his attention. Perfect silence holds for a long moment, so delicate that he could swear he hears it when saliva rolls off his tongue and splashes on the floor.

With a deafening roar, chaos breaks out. Kite is unceremoniously shoved to the floor. He raises his head in time to see a body go flying the same way as the door and hit the wall. It cracks, but they crumple to the floor and don’t get up. Dmitri takes a blow to the face and skids across the floor, unconscious. Piotr absorbs one blow to the gut, but another sends him reeling the same way. Recognition crawls tiredly back into Kite’s mind just as Ging takes Itsuki by the face and slams his head into the wall.

Pain hits Kite so hard he vomits. The acid in his mouth burns where his throat and lips have been rubbed raw. Moving his jaw sends spikes through every muscle in his neck and his head throbs in unison. The convulsions of his stomach aggravate the invasive hurt between his legs that he recoils from acknowledging, triggering a vicious circle that leaves him coughing bile.

Cloth settles on his shoulders and drapes to cover down to his knees. Kite clutches it around himself and manages to lift his gaze. The room is silent again save for his shuddering breath. He and Ging are the only ones left awake. Itsuki lies across the room, face bloody and nose broken. Ging kneels beside him, his hands hovering inches from where he’s placed Kite’s coat on his shoulders. He’s the most uncertain Kite’s ever seen him.

“Kite…” he tries. His throat works for a moment, then he presses his lips into a thin line and looks away. Kite’s head droops down, heavy with exhaustion, and clumps of his hair feel stiff and crusted.

“Did-” Kite chokes, then coughs until he can catch enough breath to try a raspy whisper. “Did you kill them?”

Ging looks back at him. “No,” he says. “Should I?”

Kite looks at the unconscious figures around them. The only feeling left to him is the beaten want to leave this place. He lets the question hang, but gestures at Itsuki’s limp form. “That one,” he rasps. “Gag him.”

Ging’s eyes follow his shaking hand and he stares at Itsuki. Kite watches the pieces click into place, Ging as unnaturally quick to solve puzzles as ever. He stands and stalks over, rips Itsuki’s shirt to shreds and stuffs his mouth full of cloth, ties a strip too tight around his head. Straightening up, he stays where he is with his head bowed. An abyssal hatred clouds his aura.

“I should rip out his tongue.”

Kite closes his eyes. He’s coming back to himself enough to feel the way his body twitches and shakes uncontrollably. Never has he wanted anything more than he wants to stop being awake and aching and sticky. Both remaining like this and doing the work of getting clean are repulsive prospects, though the latter wins out more strongly by the second. He grasps the seat nearby and tries to heave himself to his feet; pain rips through him and sends him slamming back onto his bruised knees. Ging spins at the sound as Kite shudders and huddles under his coat.

He’s halfway to Kite before he pauses and picks up the discarded clothes on the floor. “Do you-” he stumbles over the question. “Want to. Put these on?”

His awkward uncertainty only mounts when Kite gives a weary nod. “… Do you want help?”

The sheer rarity of Ging’s disconcertion gives the question enough weight that Kite actually thinks about it. He can hardly move. But the thought of what’s on his skin staining Ging’s hands makes his throat tighten with panic, its sibling thought that Ging is here, now, seeing him like this. On his knees and pathetically filthy.

“I can do it,” he says. And he does, though too slowly. He doesn’t bother with anything but his pants and shirt. He’ll get rid of them later, too; they’re too dirty to wear anymore. He has to drag his hair through the neck of his shirt and the dried mess in it makes him go blank as his stomach heaves. Ging keeps his eyes averted and his hands busy handcuffing the group of men and piling them into a corner. He only looks when Kite rests the coat on his shoulders again and, exhausted, says he can.

“I’ll carry you back,” he offers. He’s gotten ahold of his uncertainty enough that his voice is soft rather than halting. At Kite’s nod, he carefully puts his arms below Kite’s knees and shoulders and lifts him up. His own shifting weight aches down to his bones, and he’s too tired to keep his head from resting on Ging’s shoulder. He’s intensely conscious of how warm Ging is, how he moves, and how his arms curl protectively around Kite’s body. Kite embraces unconsciousness rather than decide if it’s a comfort or not.


End file.
